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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28724571">The Things we Leave Behind</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrappyRavioli/pseuds/CrappyRavioli'>CrappyRavioli</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(I think I did okay! I just have no first hand experience), Coder!George, Everyone other than George and Sapnap are pretty much just mentioned, Fluff, Kissing in the Rain, Listlessness, M/M, Mild Angst, Wilbur is in a few convos tho, Writer!Sapnap, a poorly advised attempt at writing Yorkshire dialect, but being together helps, melancholia, not youtubers!au, really cute fluffy ending, seriously I set out for melancholia and my beta was sobbing from cute at the end, small town AU, snf enjoyers come get your juice, these two boys, they are ouchie on the inside</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:40:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,522</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28724571</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrappyRavioli/pseuds/CrappyRavioli</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When George’s life in London spirals, he takes an unplanned trip to his close friend’s childhood home, the nowhere town of Bristaw Green. There, he faces his life from a new perspective, faces his past, and looks on to his future, all with the help from someone special he meets along the way.</p><p>
  <i>A tribute to all of the things we've forgotten, the people we've said goodbye to for the last time, and the memories we can't quite let go of in our search for belonging.</i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>GeorgeNotFound/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>74</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Bristaw Green</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheepfriend/gifts">sheepfriend</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For the lovely <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheepfriend"> SheepFriend</a>, my sister, for her birthday! This is taking so much longer than I generally thought it would, and I 100% blame trying to write the Yorkshire dialect. That said, I’m American as fuck and if I’ve messed it up greatly please don’t be upset, I just sort of did some research and winged it to the best of my ability. That said, here are a few things you should know before reading.<br/>Theear: There are<br/>‘T: it’s a guttural stop, but it means The<br/>Thyssen: Yourself<br/>Thee: You<br/>Aht: out<br/>Sommat: Something<br/>Thy’n: Yours<br/>Nowt: Nothing<br/>Tha’d: You’d<br/>Nivva: Never<br/>Us: We<br/>Getten: Got<br/>Reight: Right, proper, very<br/>That said, there are also changes to spelling to that are just general. If it starts with an h, no it doesn't (Here becomes 'ere).<br/>I also have a <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2TuLRBwXEDDZutiLtNOge2?si=i8nCOGKiQsmW9bju7ROiDA"> playlist</a> for this work!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The interior of George’s car is a soothing black, soft seats holding empty water bottles and fast-food wrappers- the remains of his long drive. He’s nearing the end of his day on the road, and the setting autumn sun is blocked by the wet, brown leafed trees surrounding him on all sides as well as the empty grey of English rain clouds. It’s just past 17:00; he should be arriving in the little town soon, and he’s relieved. George doesn’t like driving, not after the crash. It’s not like he had the choice though when he left, so here he is: back seat holding all he owns, driving to a shitty, nowhere town, running away.</p><p>Just like he’s so good at.</p><p>George shakes his head and adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. He’s tired from his past week spent sleeping on Wilbur’s lumpy couch. He’s eternally grateful to the man and his younger brother for letting him stay, but between the way the springs dug into his back, Tommy’s shitty and loud sleep schedule, and Wilbur and Tommy’s bickering, he had to leave. So when Tommy mentioned their little rundown hometown, George was struck by the terrible idea to go.</p><p>The farther from London he is, <i>the farther from his parents he is,</i> the better.</p><p>Wilbur and Tommy tried to discourage him by telling him how terrible it is, how big of a difference it is from the city, but it only served to encourage him.</p><p>So here he is, six miles out of Bristaw Green, the shitty little town he’s running away to. Its population is people waiting on death’s doorstep and farmers, and now, at least until he decides to face his problems, George.</p><p>He manually releases the tension from his shoulders and unclenches his jaw. A few minutes later, a bit of sunlight finds its way through the dark cast of clouds overhead and causes the wet, cracked concrete to sparkle. It’s then that he sees the sign. It’s worn and just slightly rusted around the corners, and it’s got a stain of what’s probably bird remains detailing it’s bland faded surface, but the way that the single ray of sunlight highlights it from behind, casting in it holy, golden light, lets George genuinely relax, just a bit, for the first time in far too long.</p><p><i>‘Welcome,’</i> it reads, <i>‘To Bristaw Green.’</i></p><p> </p><p>Part of the only reason this impromptu trip works is the small, homey lodging house the town holds. He unloads his two suitcases into one of the two available rooms, and it’s decorated horrendously in a mix of dark browns and what he can only assume is a horrendous cocktail of greens. The carpet is a piss yellow to him, the bed is covered in a tan floral duvet that mixes terribly with the floral curtains, and the walls are vertical wood slats and stone. There’s a turkey statue mounted on the wall above the fireplace, in front of which is a golden wing-tipped chair and a small wooden table. Pushed against the far wall is a little wooden desk, complete with an equally small, uncomfortable-looking chair.</p><p>George sighs. At first glance, he can’t help but mourn the loss of his comfortable, modern, minimalist room, but it’s okay. It’s good, actually, because thinking about his room makes him think about late-night talks with his sister, or how she would barge in just to annoy him. Thinking about his old room makes him think about hiding with his sister from their parents’ brash arguments and waiting out storms together, just existing in the safe presence of the other.</p><p>Thinking about his old room makes him think of how empty it felt after the crash. How empty his entire life became without his sister.</p><p>George tries not to think about his old room.</p><p>The change in pace is what he wanted in coming somewhere so different, so new. So, he looks at the mismatched wood and tacky, nature-based decor, he sits on the oddly comfortable bed, and he lets himself breathe in the slightly dusty air.</p><p>It feels far cleaner than the clogged, polluted city air.</p><p>George breathes.</p><p> </p><p>He briefly met the owner of the lodge, Herman Knox, when he checked in yesterday, but George feels like he’s finally getting a picture of the man as he watches him pull on an old, worn rain hat and canvas coat while slinging a bulky yet neat, black bag over one shoulder. His two bloodhounds bound around at his heels, floppy ears bouncing back and forth as they let our low, pitchy barks. Their nails click against the bare floor and he shushes them gently yet firmly with a solid, “Heel.” The two, Clyde and Chloe if George is recalling correctly, step back and sit, prim and proper if not for the way their thin tails sweep across the dark, warped wood.</p><p>When Mr. Knox catches sight of George at the foot of the stairs, he nods towards the kitchen. “Theear fried eggs ‘n beans on’t stove,” he calls, voice laden with a thick Yorkshire accent.</p><p>The acknowledgment catches him off guard, but he recovered quickly. “O-oh, thank you,” George replies, voice still fuzzy with sleep.</p><p>“Feel free tuh get thyssen what‘ere thee need while ahm aht. Ahl be back by nightfall,” he calls, and then he walks out, closing the door behind him and the dogs and leaving George’s fuzzy brain to process the dialect and the message attached.</p><p> </p><p>The next day goes similarly- he doesn’t leave the B&amp;B, instead spending his day in his room. He gets his computer set up, and throws himself aimlessly into a coding job he’s been working on. The desk he works at is uncomfortable but it gets the job done. When he isn’t coding or staring aimlessly at the ceiling, he starts reading the books in the living room. Most of them are about hunting, but there are also a good amount of old mysteries and thrillers, and they seem like a good read. Regardless, they’re all covered in dust until his own hands brush them clean.</p><p>George is tucked in the horrendous chair in his room scrolling through Twitter aimlessly when he hears the door open. It’s late but not quite unreasonable- somewhere near 21:30. Even trying to be quiet, the house is filled with noise- the clack of nails on the wood floor and the panting of happy dogs, the tap of heavy boots, the gentle rustling in the kitchen.</p><p>It releases something in George’s chest, not being alone.</p><p>The moon is out tonight, silver rays breaking through his window to dance across the carpet where the meager light of the small bedside lamp doesn’t reach. George could lose himself in it.</p><p>When he was young, George wanted to go to the moon. It was something about the careful, gentle way it would light up the sky on cloudless nights, not overpowering everything else but highlighting them一 bringing out their beauty. As he got older, he lost interest in just going.</p><p>George wanted to be buried on the moon.</p><p>Forever at peace, lost to the world.</p><p>He’s since grown out of the notion, but even then, he still admires the beauty of it all. Ever since the accident though, he finds himself once again picturing, longing for the tranquility of it, of escaping the earth and finding a dreamless, quiet eternity under the surface of the moon.</p><p>It’s too late for thoughts like that.</p><p>George drags his heavy bones up and drops himself onto the weirdly comfortable bed.</p><p>When he falls asleep, it's to a myriad of dreams that he can’t quite remember upon waking but leave him shaky and aching in the end anyways.</p><p>Leaving the room in the late morning gloom of a cloudy day reveals Mr. Knox, sat at the table pouring over a shitty laptop, a cup of coffee next to him. The dogs perk up when they see him, and their tails start wagging from where they’re laying by the couch. George doesn’t know if it’s rude or acceptable to go pet the dogs to avoid talking to the owner, but he does. When he approaches, they both stand and sit directly in front of him. He crouches to meet them, and their warmth beneath his hands gives him a distant sense of happiness. When he stops giving enough attention to one of them, the dog will push its head into George’s arm and pick it’s big paw up to drop into George’s lap.</p><p>He smiles.</p><p>Maybe he’ll get a dog someday.</p><p>“George, aye?”</p><p>Mr. Knox’s voice catches him off guard, and when he stops petting the dogs, both simultaneously push into him to get his attention back, knocking him down from his position.</p><p>He lets out a soft noise of surprise mixed with a small laugh before returning his hands to the dogs. “That’s right.” After a moment, he brushes himself off and stands up. If he wants breakfast anytime soon it seems, he’ll have to speak to the man anyway. Might as well get it over with.</p><p>“Good morning,” George greets awkwardly.</p><p>The man hums, the noise unusually gruff in his low, gravelly voice. “Theear eggs on’t stove.”</p><p>George picks up the plate set on the counter for him before scooping a meager amount of eggs onto it. As he sits, he mumbles, “Thank you.”</p><p>It’s really unconventional, this lodging house. The way he’s now just temporary roommates with an eclectic, middle-aged man is odd, but not necessarily unwelcome.</p><p>To be clear, George isn’t completely <i>comfortable</i> with the arrangement.</p><p>But it’s something that he can make do with, and well. Here? He doesn’t have many options.</p><p>They sit in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds being the dogs the next room over, the clack of Mr. Knox’s keyboard, and the deafening scrape of metal cutlery on ceramics.</p><p>Finally, Mr. Knox’s typing stops, and he nods at the laptop before shutting it with a neat finality.</p><p>“I bin meanin’ to tell thee sommat. What’eres in dis ‘ere ‘ouse, while yer ‘ere, is thy’n, so long it’s naught in my room.”</p><p>After staring straight at George while speaking, he looks away and tidies his laptop away, clearly fidgeting more so than actually achieving something.</p><p>“Oh, well, thank you.” Other than that, George doesn’t know what to say.</p><p>Unconventional indeed.</p><p>“There’s nowt to do ‘ere, but I think tha’d do grand’ tuh get out an’ explore a bit.” He stands and picks up his laptop. “Thee nivva know what ye can find.”</p><p>With that, the odd man walks into his room, and George is alone in the kitchen with his slightly cold eggs and a weird feeling in his chest.</p><p>He decides, finally, to go explore the town after all.</p><p> </p><p>What George sees coming into town can be summed up in a few words: dust and wood. The roads are unpaved but thankfully it’s not muddy, just damp. His shoes are made for the city pavement, not for the mess of nature’s untamed states.</p><p>Nonetheless, he braves the late fall chill with a fairly warm coat and a steady expression. It’s easy, actually, to stuff his hands in his pockets and start making his way down the road into the town proper.</p><p>Not to say it’s much of a proper town.</p><p>The first thing George sees is what looks to be an abandoned house. It’s side panels are covered in dirt and moss, and the front lawn is overgrown. Most of the windows, dark and grimy with their disuse, are cracked in some way. One has a piece of ripped cardboard placed over it as if that would keep the harsh outside at bay. It’s foreboding in the grey light of the cloudy day, yet overall, it’s almost sad.</p><p>Mostly, it’s just bland.</p><p>George keeps walking.</p><p>The cold autumn air is refreshing against his cheeks which he knows are being coloured a gentle pink from the wind. He’s never liked how pale he was. Here though, he feels like it makes him fit in. The dull apathy of his surroundings matches the way his skin, his hair, his eyes are void of vibrant pigment.</p><p>The brightest color around him is the burnt orange of decaying leaves.</p><p>Slowly, the number of houses he passes builds. Some are like the first, left to fall, abandoned, yet others are actually kind of… cute. He passes a brick cottage with a long drive, and its front lawn is decorated with pumpkins and flowers in various shades of orange and what he can only assume is red. As walks by another, he hears the barking of a couple of dogs. Eventually, he hits a point where the houses stand side by side, not too close, but clear neighbors nonetheless, and he gets the feeling that he’s hit the center of the town.</p><p>The first building he sees that’s not a house is a short, thin building with a neatly painted yet faded sign that reads ‘SPARKS’. Upon further inspection, a flowing, white script on the front window declares “Marge Sparks and Co. Tailor and Costumer”; sitting behind the glass are a few fabric mannequins sporting old-fashioned clothes- deep navy men’s suits and flowery cream dresses.</p><p>The roads have been relatively empty, but as George continues past the tailor, he sees a man in a dusty brown barn coat walking a corgi on a blue leash on the other side of the road. As he passes, he shoots George a friendly smile, a cordial, “Afte’noon.” Honestly, it startles George. He manages an awkward smile and nods back. Back in the city, he wasn’t used to people acknowledging him. The change, like all of the rest of them, feels pleasantly warm where it settles just under his ribs.</p><p>When he reaches the first intersection he’s seen in the town, he finds the gas station. It’s the most modern-looking building he’s seen for a while, but the outside is covered in dirt and grime. Somehow, it’s less pleasant to look at than the abandoned houses. Attached, however, he sees a little corner store. It looks full of all of the non-essential essentials that George has missed from the city. The potato chips and candy bars and sodas.</p><p>He files it away for another day.</p><p>The grandest building he finds is the church. It looks old, far older than most of the houses and other buildings he’s seen, but it seems comfortable in its age. Dark vines climb up one side of the light brick, and in the yellow grass off to the side of the building, George can see tombstones poking out from the long grass.</p><p>Across the street, he finds the pub.</p><p>It’s a dark wood building, complete with a worn, hand-painted sign proudly proclaiming “~Bristaw Green Pub~”. George feels the weight of his wallet in his coat pocket and thinks about how it is, in fact, almost time for lunch. Somehow, despite the fact that the pub seems to actually have people in it, which makes George mildly uncomfortable for reasons he can’t pin, he settles on going in for something to eat.</p><p>The door is heavy under his hands, painted a brownish yellow that he can only assume looks better to people who <i>aren’t</i> colorblind; a bell rings as he pushes it open. The interior is all dark wood and the same dirty yellow, accented by a brighter yellow and a dark, bleak grey. There was a group of old ladies crowded around a table, seemingly playing cards. There was a man in a booth, and someone passed out on the wooden bar. Behind it stands a woman, probably in her forties, wearing a black apron and drying out a cup.</p><p>“Ey up. Fin’ thyssen a seat an’ I’ll be wit thee in a minute.” She says as he walks in. She’s got the same thick accent as Mr. Knox, which isn’t surprising but it’s still jarring. He’s not used to it.</p><p>George finds himself a table off to the side. The surface is sticky in that way that most pub tables are, but he can’t find it in himself to care.</p><p>A minute later the woman walks up with a menu and sets it on the table. “What can I get tuh start thee off?”</p><p>He hums. “Just some water.”</p><p>Her eyes widen at his accent. “Aye, yer a reight southerner, ain’tcha?” The words are loud and the entire group of ladies looks up at him.</p><p>“Oh, uh, yeah,” he manages. He doesn’t like the attention and starts to regret not just staying in to eat, or stopping at the gas station.</p><p>“Ye know, us just getten anotheh new face in town. An American.” She says conversationally.</p><p>Ah, the famed northern hospitality.</p><p>“Interesting,” George replies noncommittally. She leaves, and that’s the end of it. The food he orders is surprisingly delicious, and he passes the time on his phone. It doesn’t stop him from hearing the group of ladies gossip about him, about this American, but he does his best to ignore it. Even still, he catches that the American is young.</p><p>George wonders what brought him here.</p><p>In the end, he can’t bring himself to care.</p><p>After he finishes eating, he ventures back into the grey world outside and continues down the path. He resolutely decides that he won’t be stopping in anywhere else, if simply to avoid having to make anymore awkward conversation. What he has with Mr. Knox is enough as it is.</p><p>George finds two other shops in his exploration, a sandwich shop, and a stationary shop, both just as old-looking as the tailor’s shop, and he files it away for later. Maybe, if he ever wants to eat out again while he’s here, the sub shop would be a better option than the pub, at least in avoiding the gossiping old women.</p><p>After a bit, the road crests up and George finds himself at the edge of town atop a hill. The ground below him is still muddy, the clouds are still grey. Stretching out at the base of the hill is a field of decaying farmland, and past that the same dead brown of an autumn forest.</p><p>The openness heralds in a clean breeze of fresh air, and it tastes crisp and spiced. The sun manages to break through a hole in the cloud cover, and George can make out the rays as they dance down to kiss the earth.</p><p>Tension leaks out of his shoulders like tears dripping from silver clouds, and with a fresh-cooked meal in his stomach, he turns and walks back to the lodge.</p><p>When a passing stranger calls out a thick, “Afte’noon,” the smile he flashes them feels easy.</p><p>When rain starts to gently water the earth and soak through his coat, he feels clean.</p><p>And as he dries off in the lodge, the sounds of Clyde and Chloe the only noise outside of himself that he can hear, he feels new.</p><p> </p><p>He starts sleeping better. It’s funny, but it’s finally catching up to him that he’s no longer trapped within the iron-barred cage of his past, the noise and the stone, brick and concrete of the city. George thinks that it was seeing the sprawling land that really showed him. It wasn’t particularly glorious, nor was it especially beautiful, but it’s freedom in its plainest coat and oldest hat, and George is starting to realize that there’s beauty in that on its own.</p><p>No matter how silly Wilbur seemed to think the idea was, George is glad he’s here. This is the sort of reset he’s needed to get his mind off of everything.</p><p>Back in the city, hearing all of the cars constantly made his anxiety spike. He hates driving in the city. Here, he doesn’t need to drive anywhere, unless he wants to go to the neighboring towns. Here, he only hears cars pass every once in a while. It feels safe.</p><p>Even feeling better, he spends the next few days in the lodge. He has a deadline coming up for his coding, and getting lost in the work feels <i>good.</i> For George, coding was always an escape. Now that it’s his only source of income, it can stress him out. He’s glad that he’s finally starting to have fun with it again.</p><p>The days in the lodge are oddly nice. He starts making himself simple meals in the kitchen, and on days Mr. Knox doesn’t take Clyde and Chloe out to do whatever it is that he does most days, George finds that he really likes to sit on the lumpy living room couch with them and read. They’re extremely sweet dogs, he’s found. He really likes the company.</p><p>Finally settled in, George realizes that he’s more comfortable in the near foreign walls of the lodge than he’s been in his family home in years.</p><p> </p><p>George wakes up on his sixth or seventh day to the quiet patter of rain on the roof. It’s soft and soothing, calming something in him. He goes about his morning, greeting Mr. Knox who’s once again clicking and clacking about on the old Dell laptop. Plugged into it is a fancy looking camera. Every once in a while, George sees the camera or the bag lying around. Most of the time, it’s nowhere to be found. He respects that.</p><p>He’s not sure what inspires him, whether it’s the rain or the beautiful snapshot of the trees he catches sight of on Mr. Knox’s laptop, but George decides that today is the day to leave the lodge. He settles on getting lunch at the sub shop in a few hours. In the meantime, he works on coding. Somehow, somewhere in between the lines, George finds himself excited to go, excited for the time to tick by in the steady way that time does.</p><p>Eventually, lunchtime rolls around and George gets to a spot in his project where stopping makes sense. He slips on an older pair of shoes, ones he doesn’t care about getting dirty, and, grabbing an umbrella and patting the dogs on their heads, he steps outside. He knows he should use the umbrella to avoid potentially getting sick or just being uncomfortable in general, but as soon as he’s out of the door the water is splashing on his face, cold in the already cool weather, and he can’t help but bask in it. It’s refreshing, like drinking too-cold water or getting out of a pool to step into the wind.</p><p>It makes the air feel clean, and George can breathe easier, somehow.</p><p>After a minute, he slowly starts making his way into town. The dirt paths are water-logged and he knows the thin tread on his sneakers is going to be full of mud, but he can’t bring himself to care.</p><p>A drop of water runs down his forehead and gets in his eye. He knows his hair is getting plastered down. He knows his clothes will stick to him uncomfortably the second he gets somewhere dry. It’s irresponsible, he <i>knows.</i></p><p>George smiles for it.</p><p>It feels good to shirk his supposed responsibilities. It feels good to be a little bit stupid, to get drenched and be made new in the autumn rain.</p><p>He walks down the road, watching as houses pass by. In the rain, the old, dilapidated houses and the well-maintained ones are made equal.</p><p>Water-logged and mud-spattered.</p><p>He wonders if it’s raining in London right now. Maybe Wilbur is out carrying an armful of groceries home, and it’s raining and ruining his hair. The image makes George crack up a bit.</p><p>He should text Wil. He makes a mental note to do it over lunch.</p><p> </p><p>When he reaches the sandwich shop, he finds it blissfully empty other than the tall, broad man behind the counter. It’s called The Chopping Board, and the exterior is a lovely robin blue. George likes it immediately.</p><p>Upon entering, the man greets an increasingly familiar, “Ey up.”</p><p>George takes a moment to wipe his trainers off on the mat in front of the door, shaking some of the excess water off of himself. “Hi,” he replies awkwardly. The store itself is charming, filled with plants and blue and yellow decor, some of which he thinks might be green. The menus are handwritten in chalk in a neat script, the countertops are a pearlescent glass. George orders with thankfully minimal conversation, before sitting down at a table in the corner next to the window. He pulls his phone out, fully intent on texting Wilbur, but instead, he gets distracted by a notification from Twitter. Before he knows it, his order is being set in front of him by a different man, this one smaller than the man who took his order. George watches him walk back behind the counter and into what he can only assume is the kitchen.</p><p>He’s getting ready to take his first bite of the delicious-looking sandwich when the door opens. The person is wearing a longer grey pea coat and black skinny jeans. He taps the excess water off of his umbrella before setting it in a bucket next to the door and walking up to the counter. This man is by far the youngest person he’s seen in town, other than maybe himself. His hair is messy, pushed back a bit by a white bandana. George can’t catch sight of his face.</p><p>Distantly, he wonders why someone so young would be here. The idea of a twenty-something-year-old being in this run-down town feels discordant. Clearly, though, that’s ignoring the fact that George, a 24-year-old, is in fact here on his own accord.</p><p>George takes a bite and is instantly far more intrigued by the myriad of flavors bursting from the sandwich than he is by the new face. He opens his phone, reminded that he still needs to text Wil, and pulls up his messages.</p><p>It’s a mistake to stop paying attention because before he’s even typed out a full message, he’s interrupted.</p><p>“Hey, can I sit here?” A voice says, and George snaps his head up to see the man who walked in after him, addressing him. Up close, George can see he’s wearing a black turtleneck sweater and a chain necklace. He’s got a round face and dark, fluffy hair.</p><p>His eyes are the color of the English sky一 rain cloud grey.</p><p>George does his best not to choke at how pretty they are.</p><p>“Oh, uh, yeah. Uhm. Sure.” He hates it, but he knows he’s blushing. In walks this pretty man, who wants to sit with him, and here George is, looking a bit like a drowned rat. He hopes he hasn’t made a puddle on the ground under him.</p><p>“Ooooh, you’re right British!” he says, and it occurs to him that the other has an American accent, which pairs jarringly with the clearly Yorkshire use of ‘right’. George can’t help but raise an eyebrow at it, and it elicits a little laugh from the other as he slides into the seat across from George. His cheeks look like they might be the slightest bit pink, but George could be imagining it. “Sorry, I’ve been here for a few months. It’s hard not to pick up on the dialect. I’m Sapnap.”</p><p>The conversation was odd, but not unwelcome. Sapnap is young, he doesn’t have the harsh local accent, and he’s, well… Pretty.</p><p>What else can George say except he’s never been straight a day in his life?</p><p>Plus, he’s undeniably in a better mood, and beyond all else he’s curious. What else would drive someone here, to the middle of nowhere. What would send someone packing across the ocean?</p><p>“Sapnap? What kind of name is that?” he asks, and then immediately smacks himself. George will never not wonder why, when talking to an attractive boy, his default is hostility. He goes to amend his words, but before he can the other is laughing. It’s surprisingly soft一 something about the other’s mannerisms would make him think he has a loud, boisterous laugh, but it’s not. It’s a bit high, more so like a giggle than a full laugh, and it’s really charming. George finds he’s smiling a bit.</p><p>Maybe his bristly exterior won’t push everyone away, then.</p><p>Still, he plans on making a conscious effort to be less brash in the future. It’s not fair to anyone, let alone himself, to keep pushing people away like he is. He deserves to make connections, to be friends with people. Might as well start now, with someone who he doesn’t have to be afraid of losing. <i>It’s not like he’s sticking around.</i></p><p>George ignores the fact that he doesn’t actually <i>know</i> anything about what he’s doing.</p><p>Ignorance is bliss, and for once in his life, George is fully dedicated to living in the now, past and future be damned.</p><p>“It’s a nickname,” The pretty man一 <i>Sapnap,</i> George corrects himself一says with a bright grin. It dims a bit as he continues, “I’m a mysterious guy in a mysterious town, it’s only fitting I’d give a nickname.” George can tell that there’s more to it, but he doesn’t pry.</p><p>Instead, he hums. “That’s fair. If we aren’t saying our real names, then you can call me,” he trails off, trying to think of something. Immediately, his head goes to his username GeorgeNotFound, which he uses for his discord, Twitter, Instagram, and probably more if he wanted to think about it. He can’t just say that though, not unless he wants to give a stranger all of his social contact information. He can’t do 404, what he based it off of either, not unless he wants to sound like some secret agent. Briefly, he considers just <i>NotFound</i>, but after a moment of consideration throws it out. It’s all just so tacky. “Sorry, no. I can’t do this. My name is George.”</p><p>“George,” the other tests with another small laugh. “You’re no fun.”</p><p>George smiles at that. “You’re the one laughing,” he shoots back, and Sapnap grins.</p><p>“Touche.” It’s then that the same person who brought out George’s order brings out Sapnap’s. “Thanks, Zach.”</p><p>“Glad te see thee. Tara, love,” he says before leaving.</p><p>Straight men don’t say, ‘Tara, love’. He files that note away for a different time.</p><p>George takes the moment to take another bite as Sapnap says, “When I first got here, I couldn’t understand a word anyone said. Ey up一 I was so confused about ey up, and that was just the beginning.” He says, voice taking on a whiny tone that’s as endearing as it is annoying, in a cute sort of way. Sapnap takes a big bite of his sandwich, and it’s a little gross to watch.</p><p>“About that,” George starts once he swallows his food. “How’d an American end up…” he trails off, trying to think of something that isn’t ‘the shittiest little town he’s ever seen’. “Here,” he settles on, and there Sapnap goes again, laughing his silly, happy laugh like he knows exactly what George replaced with the word ‘Here’.</p><p>“I’ve gotta keep up my mystique, man. If I just spill all my juicy secrets, how am I gonna entice you to stick around?” His tone is flirtatious, and if George was in London, too close to his parents and everything that he didn’t want to matter that mattered far too much, he would’ve frozen up, pushed Sapnap away.</p><p>He’s not in London though. He’s in the nowhere town of Bristaw Green, where the most he has to be afraid of is the gossip mill comprised of seven old ladies, and muddy pathways. George finds himself grinning. Here, in the shitties little town he’s ever seen, he’s free to do whatever he wants without consequence. He’s free to be whoever he wants. A weight is slowly being lifted from his shoulders, and he’s going to savor every minute of it.</p><p>“I don’t think you have to worry about doing too much to entice me to stick around, Sapnap,” he drawls with a grin, popping the ‘p’s in the other’s name. He lets himself ignore the fact that his hair is probably drying into a frizzy mess, that his shoes are crusted in mud, that he’s 100s of miles away from his home一 <i>can he even call it his home? Does he even want to anymore?</i> 一 and he lets himself flirt with this cute boy.</p><p>Sapnap grins at him, and George can definitely see his cheeks tint pink. “I like the way you say my name, Georgie.”</p><p>The nickname hits him like a train, and he can’t help laughing at it. He wants to flirt back, but he knows his cheeks are going red. He knows when he’s been beat.</p><p>He’s okay with it, honestly. Hopefully, he’ll get another chance again in the future, sometime soon.</p><p>They finish their lunch, chatting about nothing and anything.</p><p>“How long have you been here?” Sapnap asks before taking another bite of his sandwich. “I haven’t seen you around anywhere,” he continues through his bite, reaching up halfway through his sentence to cover his mouth as he speaks. The movement is oddly bashful.</p><p>“About a week. I haven’t really left the uh, the lodging house much.”</p><p>Sapnap finishes chewing before chuckling. “Gossip travels fast here then. I learned someone new was here probably five days ago? Zach told me when I came in for lunch. I’m assuming he heard it from one of the pub ladies.”</p><p>George snorts incredulously, eyes widening. Gossip really <i>does</i> spread fast. “I think it was, like, five days ago that I first went into the pub, and that was at lunchtime.”</p><p>The other laughs again. “Apparently, they think this means that the town is on the up and up.” The conversation lulls for a moment before Sapnap continues, “Do you think you’re here to stay?”</p><p>George wants to be noncommittal, but there’s a certain vulnerability in Sapnap’s voice as he asks the question that prompts George’s honesty. “I’m not sure. I haven’t really thought that far ahead,” he says quietly. He looks away, out the window, at the hazy drizzle of rain darkening the dirt roads. To be frank, he’s trying not to think ahead at all, thank you very much.</p><p>Sapnap’s responding smile is a little sad, and it tugs on something in George’s chest. Even having just met, George feels like Sapnap should be happy. He’s not meant to be sad. “I haven’t really either. It’s okay.”</p><p>Understanding passes between them like water flowing down a ditch, and George looks back at his now empty plate.</p><p>They don’t talk about it anymore, and for that, George is thankful.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe an hour passes, but to George, it feels like a few minutes. It’s been a long time since he’s been able to talk to someone like that. He feels like the last person he lost track of time with so easily was his sister.</p><p>He tries not to think about it.</p><p>Sapnap checks his phone briefly before his eyes go wide. “Ah shit, Melody wanted me back in the store fifteen minutes ago. I’ve gotta go.” The other drops his phone into the pocket of his pea coat and stands, pulling the garment on.</p><p>“Oh,” George says without his consent, and it sounds disappointed. Somehow though, it elicits a crooked grin from the other, and despite the warmth he feels coloring his pale cheeks, it’s almost worth the embarrassment.</p><p>“Aw, don’t worry about it Georgie,” Sapnap coos, and George starts gathering his own things, ready to leave as well. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”</p><p>They walk out the door together, and Sapnap opens his umbrella. George decides to pull his own out this time, and smiles a bit at the other.</p><p>Taking a deep breath, George replies, “I’ll be looking forward to it.” Seeing the other grin, he realizes just how much he means it. Then, Sapnap is heading in the opposite direction that George is set to go, moving quickly, coat swishing prettily with his movements. It’s only when Sapnap reaches a corner and turns to look back that George realizes he’s been watching the other leave the entire time.</p><p>The entire walk back to the lodge is spent thinking about soft-looking brown hair, a cute giggle, and storm-cloud eyes brighter than any sunny sky he’s ever seen.</p><p>He wonders when he’ll next see the other.</p><p>He hopes, against all reason, that it’ll be soon.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. So Much More</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>SO THIS TOOK AWHILE<br/>Uhm hi! I sorta disappeared for a while, sorry! If you follow me on <a href="https://twitter.com/crappyravioli">Twitter</a> or have read my other multichap He Who Replaces the Stars, you'll know my hands are like,,, messed up!! But I'm back and better than ever, like four months late but it's okay- it's here.<br/>Another Diallect key! All just stuff at the beginning:<br/>"Near as makes n'matter"= close enough<br/>"Natterin"= grumbling<br/>"Mithered"= bothered<br/>plus some of the general stuff from last chapter!!<br/>I hope you enjoy and if you do, maybe drop a kudo, comment, or user sub and potentially follow me on twitter or <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/honkschnoo">Tumblr!</a><br/>ALSO big thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/c0sm0smariner/profile">Cosmo</a> for being a really cool Beta this chapter!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>George wakes up two mornings after meeting Sapnap, the pretty American, to the sound of quiet conversation coming from the kitchen. He can’t make out the voices, but he assumes one of the people is Mr. Knox. He considers staying in his room, but to be honest he’s pretty hungry as is, and it’s already kind of late in the morning. So, he throws a hoodie that he’s pretty sure is supposed to be red on over the tee shirt he sleeps in and tries to tame his hair in the mirror. It’s not bad, so he calls it a day and heads out of his room.</p><p>Only to stop.</p><p>Sitting at the kitchen table, Clyde’s head on his lap, Chloe laying on one of his feet, is <i>Sapnap</i>.</p><p>He’d wanted to see the other soon, but this? This is unexpected in so many ways.</p><p>He blinks.</p><p>Mr. Knox catches sight of him and smiles, an expression that, while genuine, looks rusty with disuse. “Aye, George. This ‘ere is Sapnap. ‘E’s reet new ‘ere too.”</p><p>Sapnap twists around in his chair to look at him, and George is suddenly self-conscious in his ratty grey sweats and hoodie. “Oh, Georgie! I didn’t know you were staying here,” he greets jovially with a grin and a twinkle in his eyes that says he just about knew that George was staying here. “We met a few days ago at The Chopping Board,” he explains to Mr. Knox.</p><p>“That’s dandy, son,” Mr. Knox replies, waving him over. “Sapnap stayed ‘ere when ‘e first came te Bristaw. Bout a month ago ‘e started rentin’ a place from Melanie, out theres yonder. ‘E stops by te guzzle my food and blether on ‘bout nowt.”</p><p>Sapnap recoils, looking affronted. “Hey! I do not do that.”</p><p>“Near as makes n’matter,” Mr. Knox mutters, seemingly hiding a wry grin.</p><p>George takes a plate off of the counter, the same breakfast he’s had almost everyday he’s been here, and takes a seat at the table. “I guess that makes sense,” he murmurs. He’s still a bit tired, and being confronted with this much energy so early is a lot. Even still, he sits through breakfast and enjoys the jaunty conversation between the two. He laughs along at Mr. Knox’s ribbing and listens intently while the older man asks Sapnap about little things in his life.</p><p>“‘Ow’s t’writin goin?” he asks casually, like it’s normal. Interest piqued, George looks at Sapnap.</p><p>Sapnap, who’s flushing red and looking away. “Good,” he mumbles, and stops at that.</p><p>“Aye stahp yer natterin. Why’s thee all mithered now?”</p><p>Sapnap’s eyes flit to him and he looks embarrassed. It starts connecting in his head.</p><p>“Ooooh, oh一 your ‘juicy secret’ is that you’re a writer?” George asks, voice lilting teasingly, a grin pulling easily at his cheeks.</p><p>Sapnap crosses his arms and scrunches up his nose petulantly, and it’s beyond adorable.</p><p>He looks a bit like a grumpy panda.</p><p>“I’ll have you know that I’ve got plenty more juicy secrets.” He pauses, glancing over to Mr. Knox, who's watching the exchange with a raised eyebrow, amused. “But yes. I’m a writer.”</p><p>Something in his tone, joking even as it is, sounds nervous, like he thinks George will judge him for his choices.</p><p>George could never judge anyone for their choices, let alone Sapnap. Letting his grin morph into something a bit more sincere, he replies, “Writing is cool. I’m not really sure how anyone manages though. I know I definitely couldn’t.”</p><p>Slowly, Sapnap blooms back into the conversation, which continues strong until he has to leave to go into work.</p><p>He works at the stationary shop.</p><p>George notices the ink stains on his hand and thinks it’s fitting, somehow.</p><p> </p><p>In the next week, they see each other a lot.</p><p>George starts showing up at The Chopping Board more for lunch, and when Sapnap’s there, which it seems he more often than not is during lunch hours, they sit together and talk. He learns Sapnap moved here wanting fresh scenery for his writing career. Originally, he moved to West Sautonburg, a small tourist town a ways northwest of Bristaw Green, but found it didn’t fit what exactly he wanted. In exchange, George offers that he came here from London on an impromptu trip. He tells Sapnap about coding, which the other surprisingly knows a bit about.</p><p>It’s never quite the entire truth, they both know, but it’s nice.</p><p>It’s really, really nice.</p><p> </p><p>It’s a warm, cloudy Thursday afternoon and, to no one’s surprise, George decides to take a break from coding to go to The Chopping Board for lunch. It’s beyond question that he’s changing from the checkered pyjama bottoms and white tee he’s been lounging in, but he’s not entirely sure what to wear. He has the overwhelming urge that he has to look nice, but he has no clue what would be appropriate. After spending an embarrassingly long amount of time staring into the closet he’s unpacked his suitcases into, he types Wilbur’s number into his phone.</p><p>His friend picks up at the third ring.</p><p>“Hello?” he hears, and something in him settles, hearing his old friend’s voice. George texted Wilbur a little after he got back from meeting Sapnap, and the other was surprised at how well George was doing. He was happy for him, nonetheless.</p><p>“Hey Wil, it’s me.”</p><p>“Oh, hey Gogy,” he greets, warmth filling his voice. “What’s up?”</p><p>Staring at the closet, he suddenly feels stupid. “I, uh.”</p><p>George falls silent.</p><p>“George? You still there?”</p><p>He sighs. He’s in this far, he might as well get the help while he’s here. He’s going to get ridiculed either way.</p><p>“I need help.” George knows it would be easier if he just came out and <i>asked</i>, but he feels physically incapable somehow.</p><p>Wilbur is silent for a moment, probably hoping for him to elaborate, but the other knows him well enough to realize that that won’t happen. “With what?” he asks, and it’s got a small bit of concern but mostly it’s fond annoyance masked in patience, a tone George knows well. It comforts him in a way, and helps him breathe.</p><p>Wilbur is one of the few things from the city that he misses.</p><p>“I need fashion advice,” George finally manages, meticulously articulating his words in an attempt to keep the nerves out.</p><p>A beat of silence passes before Wilbur starts to laugh. “Oh my god, George. That’s what this is about? You finally scored a date with the cute American?”</p><p>George huffs out an awkward laugh. “No, no date was scored Wilbur. I’m not getting my hopes up either.”</p><p>“Well, if for once in your life you’re asking for fashion advice, this is serious.” He says it in a teasing sing-song, but the word serious makes him anxious. </p><p>“Wil, can you just一” George pauses and sighs at how nervous his voice sounds. He takes a steadying deep breath before retrying, “Can you just help me?”</p><p>Wilbur’s voice immediately softens with a mix of worry and fondness, and George is eternally thankful for his friend. “Yeah, George, of course.”</p><p>After settling on an outfit that he would’ve never picked out on on his own, he lets out a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Wil, seriously.”</p><p>“It’s no problem Gogy,” he says, familiar nickname jovial on his friend’s tongue. “Don’t be a stranger, yeah?”</p><p>George smiles. “Yeah, of course.”</p><p>“Knock ‘em dead. I’ll talk to you soon.”</p><p>They say their goodbyes and George hangs up, feeling warm. It hits him like a bus that he misses Wilbur, misses being able to show up at his door when he’s not feeling great, misses his affectionate sarcasm and their shitty late night pizza runs.</p><p>He pushes the thoughts out of his mind. Maybe, for now, he can’t see Wil in person, but he most definitely can call or text him and keep in contact, and that’s what’s important. Right now, he should focus on getting to the sandwich shop to hopefully catch Sapnap on his break.</p><p>He has cute Americans to knock dead, afterall.</p><p>As George heads out, he laughs at the thought.</p><p>Even with the melancholy in his chest, a warmth has returned, layering him in a nostalgic, hopeful blanket of safety.</p><p>He walks the familiar path with a small smile.</p><p>Sapnap, after all, might be waiting.</p><p> </p><p>He’s not. Instead, George catches sight of the other at about the same that The Chopping Board comes into view. Sapnap catches sight of him too, walking from the direction of the stationary shop. </p><p>“George!” he calls happily, picking up his pace to lightly trot over to the other. In doing so, he passes the entrance to the shop. George thinks it’s silly. It’s stupid to not just wait for him by the door. Even still, his chest blossoms with a feeling like warm honey and his shoulders lose all of the tension he didn’t know he had. Outwardly, he rolls his eyes at Sapnap.</p><p>“You could’ve just waited, you know,” he says with a teasing grin, and is pleased to see an increasingly familiar blush grace the other’s cheeks.</p><p>“Yeah, I <i>could’ve</i>,” he says, tone a bit bashful before turning teasing if a bit petulant as he continues, “but I wanted to walk with you.”</p><p>It’s so sweet, and it hits George like a bus. He closes his eyes and sucks in a deep breath through his nose as he walks. Distantly, he’s aware that he’s probably blushing bright red, but instead of going shy like he used to, he has to bite his lip to fight back a grin.</p><p>Everything is just easier here in Bristaw Green, it seems. Everything is just easier with Sapnap.</p><p>“Idiot,” he finally mutters, but he knows he’s lost the battle with his smile. Sapnap just beams at him, and it feels a little bit like the sun has burst through the clouds and come to revolve around him, and it makes him feel more free, more alive than he has in a long time.</p><p>As they order, George thinks he sees Sapnap looking at his outfit a few times and thanks Wilbur in his head. He has to admit, his butt <i>does</i> look good in these pants.</p><p>They sit at their usual table, and George glances outside to see a swath of dry leaves being ushered through the near empty streets by a stray breeze. It’s lovely, in some way. It feels like all of the old is being swept away, making way for something new. The idea of something new feels less scary, he realizes.</p><p>Most things aren’t nearly as scary when you’ve got something good to keep you afloat, someone sweet to lean on when things get to be too much.</p><p>14:30 rolls around, and George braces himself to go back to his daily life without Sapnap’s bright personality lighting up his world when the other inevitably has to go back to work.</p><p>He never starts to leave though, never moves to wrap up their conversation.</p><p>Their conversation hits a lull, and George takes the opportunity to ask, “Hey Sapnap, don’t you have to get back to work soon?”</p><p>Sapnap grins at him. “Trying to get rid of me already?” he asks, and his teasing is so familiar to George already that he kicks the other in the shins, just to get a reaction. “Ow! Hey, what was that for?”</p><p>George smiles innocently. “For being a dick.”</p><p>“But I’m your dick一wait wait no一” Sapnap chokes, cutting himself off as soon as he hears what he said.</p><p>Breaking out into laughter, George butts in, “Y-you一what?” he manages through bright, uninhibited laughter. Eventually, Sapnap’s hesitant laughter joins his, growing in warmth and volume until the combined melodies fill the air, singing a bright harmony of joy.</p><p>“Oh my god! I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it!” The other cries through his laughter, causing George to laugh more. When the laughter finally dies, Sapnap continues, “I’m off the rest of the afternoon. Since it’s not gonna rain I figured we could, I don’t know,” he pauses, looking away from George, uncertain. “Maybe we can go on a walk or something.”</p><p>Something about the way it’s said makes George realize that, for all it seems like Sapnap is smooth and put together in his flirting, he’s just as awkward as George is. He wonders if it’s the freedom of Bristaw Green freeing the other from his inhibitions too. Either way, the idea that Sapnap is trying for him makes his chest warm. He grins. “Yeah, I’d like that. Maybe we can take a walk through the woods or something,” George suggests.</p><p>“Oh,” Sapnap replies, easy grin back on his face, “The woods, you say? Planning on killing me, Georgie?”</p><p>And suddenly their familiar banter is back, ushering the moment of soft uncertainty away like leaves in the wind, and George has never felt more comfortable with anyone in his life before, not at least in a romantic context.</p><p>When they finish eating, they leave The Chopping Board, Sapnap opening the door for him with an exaggerated flourish. George walks through with a light laugh.</p><p>They walk side by side, shoulder to shoulder, through the oddly warm afternoon. Bits of sun poke through the clouds, illuminating the dirt and buildings and dust and making all of the old look new. They walk up the main road, up to the big hill, continuing their warm talk.</p><p>At the top, Sapnap pauses. George does so easily as well.</p><p>“What do you think it would be like, growing up here?” He asks, and George thinks of Wilbur. He thinks of their mom, gone, and their dad, kind yet stressed. He thinks of the ways that Tommy, Wilbur and Techno all complain about the town, about how little there is to do and how few people there really are.</p><p>“Honestly,” George starts, looking out over the sprawling expanse of farmland hills to the left, to the open drop to a thick forest on the other. The first time he’d seen it, he’d thought it was rather mundane in the profound way all of Bristaw Green has been so far. Now, in the hazy afternoon rays of sunlight, he looks at it through the eyes of someone who’s lived here for years. “I think it’d be a bit shit.”</p><p>Sapnap barks a laugh. The sun rests on his hair, painting it warm. It’s a bit long, fluffy in the way hair gets when it’s been left too long between haircuts, and it’s a good look on the other. It’s warm, honey glazed in a way George could never hope to be. Laughing in the carefree way Sapnap does upon occasion, most often when there’s just so much to care about, he’s gorgeous. Soft and sharp edges meeting to create something lovely.</p><p>“Yeah, agreed,” he says, voice warm from laughter, and when he looks over he catches George staring. He just grins. “It’d probably get pretty boring pretty fast.”</p><p>“I have a friend who used to live here you know,” George reveals, voice calm to hide the bit of anxiety he feels, sharing a piece of his life in the city with Sapnap. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Sapnap, he does, he already does far too much; rather, it’s a fear stemming from the idea of mixing what he’s left behind in the city and what he has here, like mixing them will taint the charm of Bristaw Green with something sour, bitter. He starts walking down the hill, content to just continue. It’s fitting that the first proper thing Sapnap learns about his life before coming here would be Wilbur, the only other link he has to this place. Full circle, or something.</p><p>“Oh? That how you heard about this place?”</p><p>“Yeah,” he says, trying to take hold of the open air courage and the stability of the dirt beneath his feet. “Him, his two brothers and their dad moved out of here a while ago. They moved to London and I met Wil during college. We’ve been pretty close since. He’s a bit of a music snob, and plays guitar a lot. I stayed with him a bit before coming here, actually.” It’s a valiant attempt to be open, to touch on a piece of solid truth, the truths they’ve both been skirting around since they met, but it’s lukewarm at best. His next exhale is shaky.</p><p>“Nowhere else to go?” Sapnap asks, voice quiet, comforting. It’s a clear opening to give more but any drop of courage has drifted away on the breeze that sweeps through. It tousles his hair and he’s hit by the realization that he’s not gotten it cut in a fair while. He might want to think about doing that soon.</p><p>“Not really. You said you came originally to West Sautonburg, right?” George asks, steering the conversation away from himself. Sapnap seems to accept it easily, shooting him a sympathetic smile and looking ahead.</p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, I hit some really bad writer’s block. Just couldn’t get any good ideas or any new words. Anything I did write was like, garbage. Some friends suggested a change of scenery. I guess I took it pretty far though.”</p><p>“Why not just stay in West Sautonburg? Like, what about it wasn’t right? Why come somewhere even more… nowhere?”</p><p>“I dunno. I guess it just wasn’t right.” They pass a few steps in silence, before Sapnap points out a dirt path branching off and heading into the woods. “There’s a path through here, we can walk it to wherever it goes.”</p><p>George takes it for what it is, and they keep walking.</p><p>For a bit they’re both silent. It’s comfortable; it’s not a silence born out of a lack of words, rather too many thoughts on both of their parts. George knows he’s thinking about what brought him here. He’s thinking about the harsh clatter of city traffic. He’s thinking about shouts reverberating through a home. He’s thinking about the dissonant call of a car’s horn, about a shout.</p><p>He’s thinking about a laugh.</p><p>A scream.</p><p>He stops thinking.</p><p>When he looks at Sapnap, his brows are pinched together, and George decided that maybe, for now, neither of them should be thinking.</p><p>“Maybe we should’ve brought Clyde and Chloe,” George says, breaking Sapnap out of his thoughts. “I’m sure they would’ve liked a walk.”</p><p>Sapnap snorts. “They love going on walks.” His tone is beyond fond.</p><p>“Do you like dogs, then?”</p><p>“Yeah! I didn’t really realize how much, though, until those two. They’re just—really cute. What about you?”</p><p>George smiles, thinking back to the morning Sapnap joined them for breakfast. “They really seemed to like you. And I like, I know what you’re saying, when you didn’t realize until you met them. They’re really sweet. They made me realize I might want a dog, when I finally get a place of my own.”</p><p>“Mm, yeah, same. I think I’d want…I don’t know. Some sort of big dog. Maybe like, a pitbull. They’re cool.”</p><p>George pictures Sapnap with the dog, trying to look intimidating. He snorts. “I could see you with a poodle. Maybe a golden retriever, if you were really set on something big.”</p><p>“Hey!” Sapnap shouts, and George breaks into full bodied laughter. “What’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>Like this they continue, until the tree’s partly bare branches grow thick enough to block the light. Even then, their banter doesn’t die. Before they know it, the tree cover is breaking to reveal an old stone archway. Dead leaves cover the ground, some still stuck wetly together from the constant rain, and looking into the space further, he sees a graveyard.</p><p>“I didn’t expect this,” Sapnap mutters, tilting his head.</p><p>It’s relatively small, nothing like the neat, sprawling grounds in the city where his sister was buried. No, the grass is overgrown, the paths nothing but dirt, the headstones sticking out of the ground at odd angles. None of them match; all of them are tied together in the way that they’re worn down, covered in a layer of leaves and dirt.</p><p>“Should we…?” George starts. He wonders if it’s a private ground. It looks too worn, too poorly kept to be anything of the sort.</p><p>Sapanp looks at him, a sparkly in his eyes. “Let’s look around.”</p><p>George says yes.</p><p>Of course he says yes. He doesn’t think he could say no if he wanted to. Normally, the thought would fill him with anxiety. Now? He just breathes in the clean air and looks down at his shoes. They were clean before he got here. Now, they’re caked in mud. Sapnap’s boots are too, and it feels good to not be alone.</p><p>Somehow he managed to feel more alone most days in the bustling streets of the city, surrounded by people left and right, than he does here, Sapnap at his side, in a town of maybe 50 people total.</p><p>The graveyard is larger than it seems, extending over a small hill. They follow a small path, winding in nonsensical twists and turns that feel all too human, and there’s something beautiful about it, about the way it just...exists.</p><p>“This place is surreal,” Sapnap whispers into the quiet, and George knows somehow why he’s whispering. The place seems to warrant it.</p><p>“What’s with it?” There’s a golden shimmer in the air, likely dust and ground down leaves, but it seems like magic. Everything feels heavier. The entire space feels ancient, almost sacred.</p><p>“Maybe it’s…” Sapnap starts, looking around again. “I don’t know man, we don’t have places this old in America.” With that, he grabs George’s wrist and starts pulling him forward again. His voice is still hushed as he continues. “That’s one thing that really jarred me about being here. In America, the oldest building would be considered new here. It’s so jarring.”</p><p>George nods even though Sapnap isn’t looking at him. Instead, he focuses on the warmth of Sapnap’s hand around his wrist. His skin is smooth, his touch heavy without feeling like a constraint. It feels the same as a weighted blanket. It feels safe. Realizing his silence, he just hums.</p><p>Sapnap doesn’t seem to mind his lack of response. Instead, he stops them in front of a random grave. It’s tall, a bit taller than most around them, and the top is curved in two points on either end, the center rounding them out. George reaches out with the hand not held by Sapnap, delicately brushing dirt and leaves from the surface.</p><p>The text is far too worn down to read.</p><p>They both stare at it, something silent swirling around them.</p><p>The last memories of someone’s entire life, faded. Gone. All traces of a person erased from reality. George takes a moment to mourn the person, mourn the idea of someone forgotten to time. Rather, he mourns the idea that someday, he’ll end up here. Someday, his sister’s grave will have no one to look after it, and it will be nothing but a faded, flat headstone, sunk into the earth.</p><p>“Come on,” Sapnap says softly, breaking him out of his dark thoughts with a gentle tug on his wrist. On a whim, George links their fingers and beside him, he hears Sapnap pull in a soft breath. George flashes him a warm, sad smile, and pulls them away.</p><p>Their soft chatter fills the air again, but it’s clear it doesn't mean much. Both of them are too preoccupied with the wind chilling them and the hand in their own warming them. Both are too preoccupied with the weight of their pasts sitting on their shoulders, holding them down from moving on, from growing.</p><p>The path ends at a steep drop off. The hill rolls out beneath him, and when it flattens out more, there’s more farmland. Out and out and out from there are entire worlds of rolling hills, all the golden remains of harvest. There’s a bench overlooking it, stone and equally worn by time’s constant march, but it’s relatively dry, seemingly stable, and the view is gorgeous. As they sit down, George realizes he’s never seen so much of the world at once in his life. It makes him feel small.</p><p>One day he’ll die, and he’ll be buried, and everyone who remembers him will die, and his grave will wear down until it’s unreadable. The world will keep spinning. This land will grow and change but time will not stop. Others will laugh and cry in his place. There’s something comforting in the melancholy of that thought.</p><p>“I used to live with my best friend, Dream. Back in America, I lived in Florida. I was trying to become an author, and I kinda got lucky, because we were living in an apartment owned by his parents?” Sapnap starts, looking resolutely out over the land. The sun, slowly creeping towards the horizon in front of them, casts him in blazing oranges and golds; in the dying light he looks like a flame, and George feels inexplicably like a moth. Sapnap squeezes his hand. “The problem was, I couldn’t, like, write anything. It was the worst block I’d ever faced, and it was terrifying because I decided to not go to college in favor of living with Dream and writing. He was, uh, a coder, just like you. Things started panning out for him, like, <i>really good</i>, and I was just stuck. He was my best friend for forever but I felt so inferior to him, and it’s not like it’s the first time that’s happened. I was just dead weight. I started lashing out and we had this big fight. I don’t even remember what it was about but he’s really stubborn, so it’s pretty easy to rile him up when you know what buttons to press.” He stops, looking down at his feet. “God, I felt like shit afterwards but I just wanted to fight. I wanted the reason he inevitably kicked me out to be something I did on purpose, not the countless failings I have no control over. After the fight though, he didn’t kick me out. He just spent a weekend at his family’s house, and I just. I just showed myself out. I stayed with some friends, decided I needed to focus on writing for a while. They suggested I travel somewhere different, and well. Here I am, I guess.”</p><p>George takes it all in, every aching, lost word, and for a moment he’s speechless. How do you open up so freely?</p><p><i>It must be something in the air,</i> he thinks idly as he takes a breath in and feels his chest open up and air out. “Has it helped?” he asks, kicking himself the second it left his lips. After that, he should do something more…helpful, or something. Offer comfort, provide advice. Instead he just一god, he’s bad at this.</p><p>Sapnap smiles at him though. “It has! I think I really did need the change. I’m halfway through a new novel and still going strong, and being here has really helped me just, I dunno, find some sorta balance I guess. Dream and I have made up. Things are still a bit shaky though. I don’t know if they’ll ever be the way they used to be but I dunno, maybe they shouldn’t go back to that. Maybe this is better for both of us.” A moment passes in silence. “I dunno, but, uh一yeah,” Sapnap finishes awkwardly, running a hand through his hair and touseling it further.</p><p>He really is pretty.</p><p>Looking out again, George kind of feels like it’s now or never. Before he can really weigh the options, his mouth opens and he’s speaking. “About a year ago? I got into a car crash. Broke some ribs, was in the hospital for a while.”</p><p>“Holy shit, you’re alright, right?” Sapnap interrupts, and when George glances over he meets the lovely, crystalline grey of Sapnap’s eyes. He has to look away first, finding solace in the setting sun.</p><p>“That’s the worst part, I think. I am. I’m fine.” Thankfully, Sapnap doesn’t say anything. The way his hand tightens around George’s though and makes him feel both safer yet also uncomfortably guilty. He carries on. “My sister was in the car with me. We got hit by a drunk driver, middle of the day. We were on our way back from getting groceries and just一” His voice breaks.</p><p>“Oh god, I-I’m so sorry一”</p><p>George forces in a breath and tries not to think about it too deeply. “No, no don’t. I, uh. Yeah. Just don’t apologize.” He takes a few more breaths. “We were really close, cause our parents were kinda shit. Both homophobic, our mom so full of herself she couldn’t see anyone else in the same room. I was living at home and waiting until my sister got out of college to move out but.” He pauses again, biting down tears and blinking his eyes. His breathing is still shaking, his vision just a bit blurry. “So after the crash, my parents actually started trying but it was kind of too little too late, and I just. I had to go. Everything in the city reminded me of her, Sap. When I was staying with Wil and he mentioned this place, I just—I made my mind up in the hour that this was where I was gonna go. I didn’t know if I was gonna stay for a week or the rest of my bloody life. I still don’t know.” His breathing has calmed and he feels less like he’s going to cry now. Instead, he squeezes Sapnap’s hand. “Being here is nice, though. Not many cars to make my panic spike, no memories of the places we used to go. No way for my parents to barge in and demand something else of me. Just me.” The wind sweeps through, sending a chill down George’s spine. Up until now he hadn’t quite realized just how cold it’s getting, just how late. Sapnap leans into his shoulder, warm and comforting. George smiles. “And you, too.”</p><p>“That’s a good thing?” Sapnap asks with a gentle smile.</p><p>George leans against the other. “A very good thing.”</p><p>They watch the sun continue to set for probably too long. “Come on, we should probably get going. It’s gonna be dark soon.”</p><p>“Yeah,” George murmurs, yet he doesn’t move. Instead, for one more lovely moment, he leans against Sapnap’s side. His arm is warm against George’s and so George just lets himself exist.</p><p>It’s too late when they start the walk back, the sun dipping below the horizon and letting a billion stars blink into existence once they finally leave the forest. There aren’t any street lamps and only a few sparse buildings have lights on the front, but the bright glow of the night sky lights the way well enough. If it was cloudy, they’d be in a bit of trouble. As it is, the yellow glow of the moon, just a bit over full, shines down, illuminating the earth.</p><p>As they walk silently, George muses that he hopes to be a little like that. He’s not whole, far from it, but one day he might be. Until then, maybe he can light the world up a little. And, he thinks with a silly smile and a tired, happy mind, if he’s the moon, then maybe Sapnap is the earth. George feels an awful lot like he’s revolving around the other, and, well. If he could choose anything to illuminate, it would be Sapnap.</p><p>While George had wanted to be buried on the moon, had wanted that cool, distant peace, he thinks that maybe he wouldn’t mind being here, buried in soil and warmth and a different sort of peace. The solemn, surreal atmosphere of the graveyard comes to mind. The gentle cadence of a warm, sunlit voice comes to mind. A hand in his. A shoulder to lean on.</p><p>No. George wouldn’t mind it at all.</p><p> </p><p>After that, he and Sapnap started properly planning their lunches and other silly little excursions. They exchanged numbers, and if Sapnap put his name in George’s phone with a little panda emoji and three pink and red hearts, well, no one has to know that George hasn’t changed it.</p><p>It’s a Tuesday. George is staring up at the ceiling of the room he’s been staying in for probably too long now and thinking, because.</p><p>He’s been in Bristaw Green for over two months, passing his days having friendly conversation with Mr. Knox, coding, spending time with Sapnap, and, most importantly, not thinking. Being in the small town is nice becasue, at least at first, he was content to just live in the present. George was here on an impromptu trip and what he did here didn’t matter because he was going to leave.</p><p>None of it mattered.</p><p>Until, well.</p><p>Until it did.</p><p>He’s been taking it one day at a time, ignoring consequence and his future and now it’s time to decide what the fuck he’s doing in Bristaw Green. He’s put the decision off long enough, because what he’s built here, with Sapnap? It definitely matters. George can’t just leave without a trace. He doesn’t <i>want</i> to leave without a trace.</p><p>George isn’t even sure he wants to leave.</p><p>But he can’t really…stay.</p><p>He’s already probably overstayed his welcome at the lodging house, even if Mr. Knox has grown exceedingly warm towards him. The problem is, he doesn’t really have the money to pay any sort of rent, unless he gets a job on top of his coding. The problem with that is that nowhere is really…hiring. The pub and The Chopping Board are both fully staffed, as few people as that takes. InkCap, the stationary shop Sapnap is working at, is good as well. Other than that, there’s the tailor shop but George knows he can’t even think of helping there. He could always get a job in West Sautonburg, about a half hour drive away, but一</p><p>Driving back and forth daily is a distinct no.</p><p>So here he is. His options are really just…leave. Go back to the city, get a small, shitty apartment in walking distance of a day job until coding starts pulling in enough to keep him on his feet.</p><p>Maybe he can come back, once he’s saved up some money?</p><p>But no.</p><p>Some things are better left behind.</p><p>It’s with that sad thought that he finally gets up. It’s yet another grey day, but instead of the beautiful marble of clouds the sky sometimes gives, it’s one plain, dreary slate. Rain trickles down the window in doleful streams. It feels like a punch in the face. At least here, the rain serves to help things grow. The world here always looks greener in the drizzle or a storm. Back in the city, it just serves to make everything blend together in swathes of grey.</p><p>Fully planning on staying in, maybe coding, maybe just moping with one of the books around, George leaves his room in comfortable dark grey sweats and a black tee shirt. He doesn’t worry about Mr. Knox still being around. It’s late enough that the man has gone out on his daily photography trips. Rain or shine, he always goes out, every day. Every day, George thinks idly, except Thursdays. Thursdays are for groceries and going into town. Mr. Knox still takes his camera. </p><p>In the living area he’s shaken from his depressed haze of thoughts by the sight of something distressingly warm. Somehow it cheers him up instantly, and that kills him.</p><p>Sat on the couch with both Chloe and Clyde is Sapnap. He’s dressed in similarly comfortable clothes, a pair of joggers and a hoodie. A wet baseball cap hides his hair.</p><p>“Gogy!” He cheers happily upon seeing him, smiling brightly at him. George will claim he regrets letting the other pick up on that nickname, but the bubble of joy in his chest will always scream it’s dissent.</p><p>Sapnap has his phone in one hand, settled atop Clyde’s back, whose front half is resting probably heavily across Sapnap’s legs. Chloe is nestled against his other side; when they see George, they both perk up. Chloe hops off the couch and trots up to him, snuffling into his hand and pushing through his legs, knocking him off balance. Still, when he reorients himself, he obligingly gives her butt scratches in the way he knows she likes them.</p><p>“Hey Sap,” He greets, off kilter. He wasn’t expecting Sapnap here. It was supposed to be a day full of work for him at InkCap, ‘doing a full inventory’. They’d decided against lunch even. George had at first resigned himself to a Sapnap-less day, then decided to take advantage of it by using the alone time to confront and mope about his problem.</p><p>“I like when you call me that,” he grins, and he’s so open, he’s so bright. George can’t think of anyone he’s felt so…so enamoured with.</p><p>Ignoring the blush he can feel overtaking his cheeks, he toes at the worn wooden floors. “I thought you had work today?”</p><p>“Melanie decided we didn’t need to. Something about the records we have being enough. Then she shooed me out. I guess then I wanted to surprise you.”</p><p>The soft words disarm him further, warmth masking the spikes of panic and guilt running down his spine.</p><p>What does he do? How can he leave this?</p><p>“Considered me surprised, then,” is what he manages to say.</p><p>“Come on,” Sapnap says with a grin, pushing a reluctant Clyde off of his lap and standing. “I wanted to just spend the day in.”</p><p>It takes him a minute to understand. Sapnap wants him to spend the day at his house, the one he’s renting from Melanie.</p><p>Something sparks in his chest, something golden and green, like pine sap and moss. Something earthy. Something safe.</p><p>He stamps the hope down and tucks it away. Some things are meant to become part of the past. George has come to terms with the feeling that this is his.</p><p>Still, he can’t say no to the other, not after something so sweet, so George allows himself to be whisked into the storm under the warm shelter of a shared umbrella. At least, he thinks, this will be a good memory.</p><p>“You okay?” Sapnap asks as they walk. Their shoulders brush. Sapnap, as always, is warm; it’s a lovely balm on his tired soul and he slowly resigns himself to, selfishly, relishing in it all until it’s over. “George?”</p><p>“Yeah, sorry. I’ve just been thinking about…everything.”</p><p>Sapnap glances at him, bumping their shoulders together. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, eyes kind, open, welcoming. That’s something they do now. They talk to each other about important things. Sapnap has been keeping him up to date on how his shaky conversations with Dream have been going, and George calls him when he starts thinking too hard about the crash and starts to panic.</p><p>“I…I don’t know,” he mumbles. He should tell him. He should. Yet a part of him, buried deep in his chest, hopes that he’ll figure something out in the coming days before he leaves. Friday, is what he decided on. If he doesn’t give himself something definite, he’ll never stick with it.</p><p>They come to a stop on a corner in the city's center, across from the pub. The church, despite not being too large, seems to loom behind them. The rain has been picking up the entire walk and splashes in on his legs. The bottoms of his trousers are soaked, his shoes muddied through and through.</p><p>“George, I know I haven’t really, uh, known you for long but,” Sapnap starts, bashful, turning towards him yet glancing away as he holds the umbrella more over George. Rain drums against the top of it and batters the ground. In the yellow-ash light of the storm, Sapnap looks like home. “You know that you can tell me...whatever it is, yeah?”</p><p>George can’t help but smile at him. He’s so, desperately beautiful. Wind blows the rain under and a drop of water rolls down the side of his cheek. “I do.” Despite it all, it’s not a lie. George can tell Sapnap anything.</p><p>It’s just himself who he has to lie to.</p><p>When he speaks, Sapnap’s eyes land back on him. His eyes are more perfect than any rainy sky. They sparkle.</p><p>Wind rushes around them as the storm builds. Distantly, thunder rumbles. None of it is important under their bubble of an umbrella.</p><p>“Can I kiss you?”</p><p>Sapnap’s voice is rich, like the colour of fresh turned soil or the rain falling around them.</p><p>Really, it was a problem.</p><p>George leans in, and lets his eyes fall shut, brushing thoughts of leaving away. Make it a good memory. Hold onto every last piece of this until it’s gone, even if it makes losing it hurt more.</p><p>Sapnap’s lips are soft and a bit chapped against his, and his beard scratches his chin. Their noses bump, gentle, all of it oh so gentle. When he reaches up, Sapnap’s face is warm under his chilled hands. He feels like he’s holding a fire in his hands; he feels like he’s holding creation, like he’s cradling life itself between his palms.</p><p>When Sapnap settles a hand on his hip, atop his coat and far too far yet still so devastatingly wonderful, George begins to mourn. Their lips move together, fluid, and then Sapnap is wrapping both arms around his waist. The umbrella falls away but George could never care, not even as the cold water falls onto his face in a shock. He just pushes closer, filling all of his senses with Sapnap. <i>Sapnap, Sapnap, Sapnap.</i></p><p>He could never say no to the stupid, charming, lovely American.</p><p>Even if he could, he doesn’t want to.</p><p>He won’t.</p><p>In the rain and dirt and decay, something new has bloomed and George will be damned if he doesn’t let it grow.</p><p>When Sapnap pulls back一for the proper last time, a few minutes were spent where one of them would pull back and the other would blindly chase after一he’s glowing. His skin is shimmering with water and his hair is stuck to his forehead despite the hat; his lips are stained red. George can’t imagine he looks much different. Something about Sapnap is still so pretty though, if George looks even the slightest bit as beautiful as the other then he’ll be happy.</p><p>“Let’s get out of the rain,” George says with a soft smile. If he was the same person he was when he got here, he might’ve pulled Sapnap into the church. He might’ve found somewhere quiet and secluded and done something stupid and irresponsible and regrettable. George now is still doing something stupid and irresponsible, but it’s far from regrettable. No, this no longer is all inconsequential. It all matters too much but he’s been snared, completely and fully, and he wants it no other way.</p><p>They get to Sapnap’s little house relatively quickly after that, walking hand in hand as the rain soaks their skin. They shut the umbrella earlier. No point after already getting thoroughly soaked.</p><p>When they get inside, they’re both almost shivering. It’s late enough in the year that the rain will turn to sleet soon. The ground is already frosting over at night. He wouldn’t be surprised if one of them got a cold because of it.</p><p>Sapnap though gets him a dry change of clothes and a towel, directing him into the bathroom while he goes to change and dry off in his own room. The bathroom is small, coated in a pale yellow floral wallpaper. There’s an array of hygiene products spread over the small counter, arranged in a basket to one side. It’s sparse but lived in and it hits him that Sapnap’s been here for almost four months, two more than he himself.</p><p>After laying his wet clothes out on the sink, he pulls on the clothes Sapnap gave him. There’s a pair of warm sweatpants that are loose around the waist, sitting low on his hips no matter which way he pulls the string in, along with a soft, worn school crew neck for the “Kenson Coyotes”. The jumper is baggy around his shoulders, yet it doesn’t hang too far over his hands. Still, he balls up the ends of the sleeves, bringing it shyly up to sniff at it.</p><p>It smells like Sapnap.</p><p>Of course, it would, but.</p><p>It’s revolutionary, in some small way.</p><p>When he comes out, feets now covered in an odd pair of fluffy, animal themed socks, Sapnap is leaning against the couch, scrolling through his phone. He looks up when George walks in, freezing.</p><p>“Is something, uh,” George starts, pausing and looking down at himself. Nothing out of place, he didn’t forget to put on pants, nothing really一“wrong?”</p><p>Red creeps up over the other’s face and George realizes that no, nothing is wrong. He’s just wearing the clothes belonging to the perfect man he just kissed, standing in his living room, probably looking far more domestic than he’s ever imagined himself with anyone else一</p><p>And now George is blushing.</p><p>“Kiss me?” he asks, ignoring any embarrassment. His smile is bashful, maybe a little silly, but so, so happy. They’ll talk today. They will. But first? George is going to live in the moment and soak every last second up.</p><p> </p><p>They’re laying on the couch. Nothing past some heated making out happened but George feels more satisfied than he has after any meaningless sexual encounter he had with exes. Sapnap is wrapped around him, warm, warm warm warm. Safe.</p><p>George’s head is pillowed on one of Sapnap’s arms and it’s undeniably the most comfortable he’s felt in too long to recall, despite the couch being old, it’s springs easily felt through the thin cushion. Sapnap’s other arm is curled around his waist, holding him against the other’s chest. Their legs cross at their ankles. George basks in it all as Sapnap presses light, butterfly kisses to his neck, nosing at his damp hair.</p><p><i>You’re going to leave him. You’re being unfair,</i> his brain yells at him, but for once it isn’t louder than his reason.</p><p>“Hey Sap? Can we talk about something?” He asks, rolling over so they’re nose to nose on the small couch.</p><p>This close, he can see Sapnap’s individual lashes dusting his cheeks under his furrowed brow.</p><p>“Is everything alright?” he asks, and George smiles at him. He has a feeling it’s a lot sadder than what he meant to give.</p><p>“Sort of? This?” he leans forward to peck the other on the lips, and, <i>fuck,</i> he doesn’t think he can tire of the feeling, before continuing, “This is perfect.” He means it. It all feels fast but from their first encounter it was always leading to this. Every little glance, every brush of skin, every smile was leading to their kiss in the rain, to them cuddling on a couch. He could even argue that the pieces of themselves they shared might be even more intimate than any kiss could ever be. “But there’s a different problem.”</p><p>George wants to just say it. He wants to come out and say, and ask, and lay himself bare but he’s still himself. He’s still George, GeorgeNotFound, 404, error error error please try again later.</p><p>Sapnap still looks worried though. “Yeah?”</p><p>So George tries, for him. “I want to stay here but I need a job and I can’t get one around here, not without driving daily, and I can’t do that. Coding is enough to stay at the lodging house but I can’t afford anywhere else without more money, and I can’t just stay at the lodging house forever一” he explains, and he knows he’s rambling and there’s one solution but it’s not something he can ask for.</p><p>It’s a good thing Sapnap seems just as enamoured with him, despite there not being any clear reason.</p><p>“Stay,” Sapnap butts in, brushing their noses together as the words tumble out. “Stay with me. I need help with rent anyways. I have a spare room I’ve been using as an office but you can take it if it means I can keep一 if it means you can stay.”</p><p>
  <i>‘If it means I can keep you.’</i>
</p><p>George has never been impulsive. He’s never rushed into relationships. He’s never been irresponsible with his heart. He’s never given someone a piece of himself without knowing that he can take it back.</p><p>And then George ran away to Bristaw Green and left that part of himself behind.</p><p>“Okay,” he breathes, a prayer, a thank you. He gets to stay. He gets to let this grow.</p><p>He gets to keep this.</p><p>For the first time in over a year, George feels hope for his future.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s always gonna hurt,” George mumbles, wrapped in a blanket and coat and still shivering on the back porch, even with Sapnap sharing the blanket against his side.</p><p>“I know, baby.”</p><p>“I miss her, Sap. I miss her so much.”</p><p>Sapnap pulls him impossibly closer, letting him shake. “I know,” he breathes.</p><p>It’s been a month. A month more in Bristaw Green. A month of this, of careful holds and loving kisses and stupid mornings and coding and writing and panic attacks and impulsive decisions. The house, <i>their house</i> has more decorations, it’s more personalized to them. They’ve joked about getting a dog.</p><p>“I still, I still don’t really know what to do without her.”</p><p>George is near tears. Ahead of them, the first snow of the year dusts the ground.</p><p>“It’s gonna be alright. It’s okay to miss her.” A gentle, cold kiss to his cheek. “It’s okay.”</p><p>“I was gonna help her. I was gonna keep her safe,” he says, voice cracking.</p><p>Sapnap’s breath hitches. “It wasn’t your fault, George.”</p><p>“I was the one driving. If I had一”</p><p><i>“George,”</i> he says, desperate to get through to the other. It’s never been his fault. It won’t ever be.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. Why does it hurt so much?</p><p>“Don’t be.”</p><p>They sit in silence for a few minutes.</p><p>“Maybe,” Sapnap suggests gently, “You could go visit her?” The words are soft; there’s nothing accusatory, nothing harsh or hurtful. They’re just there, a good idea on a cold afternoon. When George doesn’t respond, too caught up in the mesmerizing pattern of falling, crystalline snow and trying not to cry, Sapnap continues. “I know you left your life in the city behind. You came here to start new, but…” He trails off, looking out to the snow. “I don’t think you have to cut it all off completely. You’ve still been talking to Wilbur. I think you can still leave the negative behind in your past and bring what you love with you into your life now.”</p><p>George thinks about it. He thinks about the driving, the long, ceaseless trip. He thinks about the endless wailing of the city.</p><p>He thinks about the graveyard they came across, when he learned about Sapnap’s reason for leaving, and he thinks about the worn, unreadable faces of the graves. He thinks about the surface of the moon, of solitude, of loneliness.</p><p>He doesn’t want that for his sister.</p><p>“Maybe,” he says, words shaky and uneven. “Maybe.”</p><p> </p><p>They’re laughing, coffee in hand, sitting across from each other at their cramped kitchen table. Sapnap is kicking George’s feet. George rams one socked toe into the other’s shin.</p><p>George’s laptop is open in front of him, lines upon lines of code. Sapnap is a mirror across from him, but his laptop is full of new worlds, entire realities built from pretty words. Ever since George took the spare room, they’ve taken to working together in the kitchen whenever they can.</p><p>The snow outside has been falling for about a week without fail一it’s colder here, farther north than he’s used to. Sapnap isn’t great with the cold, having grown up in the warmth of Texas and then living in Florida for the past few years. It’s cute, the way he gets so thoroughly bundled up.</p><p>His boyfriend is cute.</p><p>
  <i>His boyfriend.</i>
</p><p>The warmth flooding his chest is from far more than just the heat of the coffee running through his throat.</p><p>Suddenly, their little game of footsie halts; when George looks up, it’s to see Sapnap staring down at his phone, his brow furrowed.</p><p>“What’s up?” He asks, bumping the other’s foot under their table.</p><p>Sapnap looks up at him and the tension seems to melt. George is glad that he can do that for him. “Dream, uh一 Dream texted, asking to talk for real, sometime.” The two friends had been on shaky speaking terms for awhile, but Sapnap had said that nothing was really improving.</p><p>George smiles at him. Even on bad terms, Sapnap still goes on and on about Dream. Almost every memory he has growing up past the age of eleven has Dream in it, somehow. George likes seeing Sap happy. “Well, maybe you should.”</p><p>The American looks up at him, a bit startled. “I…I’m not sure. What if it, like一I dunno, what if it like, changes something?”</p><p>A spike of anxiety crawls through his chest, but he brushes it away. “Remember a few days ago, when you suggested we go-we go see my sister?”</p><p>Sapnap nods.</p><p>“And you said that maybe I don’t have to cut off my past to move on. The same goes for you. You miss him, he was your best friend. He still is, even if things are messy right now.” George sends him a soft smile, and he hopes that he’s glowing softly, helping to light Sapnap’s life up little by little.</p><p>“George,” he starts, stopping and looking down before slumping. “What if I lose him? What if what I did makes him hate me? What then?”</p><p>George reaches out, taking the other’s hand.</p><p>“Things might not be the same but…I think that they’ll be better, if you work towards it.” Outside their window, snow falls gently. White, new. “If not, we’ll get through it.”</p><p>“We really are a pair, huh?”</p><p>“Go talk to him. I can stay with you, if you want?” George offers.</p><p>Sapnap squeezes his hand. “Thanks, Georgie.”</p><p> </p><p>Things may not be perfect. Their pasts are muddied messes, their futures far from clear, but their present is nice. George teaches Sapnap how to drive in the UK, and Sapnap gets his license. He drives them to London, and Sapnap holds him while he cries over his sister’s grave. They make sure it’s still nice and they leave flowers. George introduces Sapnap to Wilbur, and they get along well.</p><p>When they leave the city, George feels a little bit more whole, even if the constant blare of traffic made him nervous the entire time they were there.</p><p>They talk about maybe going to America sometime. Sapnap wants George to meet Dream properly. The two friends made up, and in the process, Dream and George became friends. It’s nice, having someone to talk to about coding. Dream is really cool, George is pleased to find.</p><p>They look for shelters. It’s silly. It’s all so fast. They have breakfast with Mr. Knox and in the meantime, settle on taking Clyde and Chloe for walks. They explore the woods together on dry days once it warms up. They sit in the rain and shiver in the chill of it and laugh and kiss.</p><p>They kiss a lot.</p><p>George was right一the feeling never gets old.</p><p>There are a lot of uncertainties. They’ve talked about it, about moving, maybe to America一a suburb of Orlando to be near enough to Dream to be close but not trapped in the scream of car traffic. They’d still visit Bristaw Green often, if they left.</p><p>If they do leave, they’ll leave a piece of themselves behind here, to grow roots and blossom into something lovely.</p><p>They’ll leave something behind, but they’ll start something new, and despite leaving it behind, they won’t lose it.</p><p>They’re growing, revolving around each other.</p><p>It’s imperfect, but it’s enough.</p><p>It’s enough.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you enjoyed!!! I had a lot of fun writing this and while I'm glad i've finished it I'm kinda sad to be done!!! I'll probably be writing a but more Georgenap sometime in the future but as it stands now, i've just got some more banger fic ideas for other pairings lined up&lt;3 Comments, kudos, and user subs are all super appreciated!!! Many hearts!!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter two should be out relatively soon! Comments and Kudos are greatly appreciated &lt;3<br/>And check out <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheepfriend"> SheepFriend</a> and her work on here! It's super lovely dreamnotnap.<br/>Thanks again for reading!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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